


Heat and Darkness

by Jenni_Snake



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Kaiju (Pacific Rim), Kink Meme, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some German
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenni_Snake/pseuds/Jenni_Snake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme prompt: <em><a href="http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=4738235#t4738235">Newt plays pretend with his lovers about being a humanoid kaiju hybrid who needs to be tied down...</a></em> (Click to read full prompt.)</p><p>  <em>(Hover over the German for pop-up translations. <a href="Voil%C3%A0.">Try it here.</a> Please don't click as these are not real web links! And vielen Dank to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook">dr_zook</a> for checking over my German!)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat and Darkness

Inside the taxi it’s dark - all of Hong Kong is dark, even under the glare of billboards and streetlamps that ebb in squares of light through the window. They’re sitting in the back seat, and Newt runs his hand up Hermann’s thigh, but Hermann pushes him away.

“ _[Nicht jetzt](%E2%80%9DNot_now,%E2%80%9D),_ ” he scolds quietly so the driver won’t hear.

Newt stops, but only for a moment before his hand is crawling up Hermann’s back under his shirt.

“ _[Nicht hier!](%E2%80%9DNot_here!%E2%80%9D)_ ”

Newt is undeterred, panting as he nibbles on Hermann’s earlobe. Hermann closes his eyes tightly but it only serves to make hearing Newt’s breathing in his ear closer, and it annoys him that it’s sending a heat from his chest down to his abdomen.

“ _[Hör auf!](%E2%80%9DStop_it!%E2%80%9D)_ ” he says, putting a bit more force into pushing Newt away this time.

Newt slumps against the opposite door, where he would normally be pouting and dejected, but there’s something that’s overtaken him. His nails are digging into the back of the seat in front of them, and he’s jiggling his leg up and down. Suddenly, he leans forward and addresses himself to the driver, rattling something off in Cantonese as if for all the world he’d been speaking it his whole life. He says nothing to Hermann, and Hermann doesn’t ask, but his interest has been piqued. Newt is pressed against the door again, but as if it’s taking all his willpower to not slither all over Hermann and devour him right there. Something animalistic is in his eyes and his breathing, patience overlaying his instinct. It sends a chill up Hermann’s spine that makes his whole body tingle.

The cab stops in a part of the city that is soaked in neon and cloaked in shadow, somewhere that Hermann doesn’t recognize. There is an exchange between the driver and Newt. He taps his card on the machine and the meter resets to zero. He bounces out of the car and closes the door. Hermann is confused, then startled when Newt opens his door and leans on the frame.

“If you want, he’ll take you back," he says, tipping his head towards the driver.

Newts eyes are dark and Hermann’s heart falls a bit at being sent away.

“Or,” Newt adds, voice thick and low, “you can come with me.”

Hermann falters, but his curiosity and exhilaration overpower him, and he lets Newt pull his out of the cab. Hermann watches it drive off, wondering what he is doing, allowing himself to be dragged into the unknown.

Newt leads him by the wrist with a determination that makes Hermann feel as if he is an afterthought, and he has to ignore the pain of walking so quickly because Newt’s single-mindedness has put him into an almost trance-like state. They climb a set of stairs, Hermann leaning heavily on his cane and pulling on the railing to keep up. There were people in the street below, but they disappear up here. Newt knows his way, walking up to a non-descript metal door as if he could have done it blindfolded. He leans on a buzzer, then jabs at it repeatedly in a sort of rhythm. Hermann asks nothing, merely observes. He has given up entirely imagining where they might be going, or for what purpose. Newt is too focused to waste time talking.

After a moment there is a click, and Newt yanks the door open. It closes slowly but heavily behind them. They make their way down a corridor that is so dim it seems almost laughable that someone would have even tried to light it. A set of unhurried footsteps approach them from the other end, and Hermann can hear the unabashed swagger before he even sees their owner.

In the half-light, Hermann makes out the figure of a large white man, hands resting arrogantly on his hips, hair so blond he would have sworn it were bleached if hadn’t matched his moustache and beard. Of course he recognizes him, though they’ve never met, and Hermann stiffens, standing up straighter and gripping the head of his cane tighter. It’s because he can’t see his eyes, shaded behind dark lenses, which on anyone else would seem ridiculous in this darkness. In this case, it only engenders a mixture of intrigue and fear. Hermann’s legs start to ache as he grows tense, but he stands his ground. He glances at Newt protectively, on his guard.

And finally the purpose for their detour becomes clear as Newt crawls up onto Hannibal without a word, clasping his arms around his neck and burrowing his face into his shoulder. Hannibal picks him up off the ground with ease, and Newt is curled up against him, making a sound that Hermann can only dumbfoundedly interpret as purring. The heat that spreads through his loins makes him flush as much from embarrassment as from arousal.

There hasn’t been a moment that Hannibal’s gaze has left him, and he wonders if it’s a show of power, intimidation, or daring him to object to what is going on. In a low voice that Hermann isn’t sure is intended for him or Newt, Hannibal finally speaks.

“You made the right decision to bring him.”

He turns, still carrying Newt, and Hermann follows them. They pass doors that disappear into the walls themselves, and turn into a room whose door clicks closed behind them. The spot-lighting timidly illuminates the delicate paper screen against one wall, shines off the gilded border of a brush painting scroll on another, and glistens over the carved mahogany headboard of an otherwise simple bed. A thin layer of cold sweat breaks out all over Hermann’s body. He watches without breathing as Hannibal tries to lay Newt against the sheets. Newt is clinging to him making noises like a cat, and Hannibal has to pry him off, much to Newt’s chagrin. Newt’s not expressing himself in words, just grunts, growls, hisses. Hannibal is muttering things to him as he tries to hold him down, and Hermann catches snippets: mutant, kaiju breeding season, bitch in heat. He pieces the game together and swallows hard, unable to form thoughts at all. His distraction is interrupted by Newt growling from deep in his throat and Hannibal’s reply.

“If you keep it up, you’re going to get tied down.”

The threat serves, if anything, to spur Newt on, making him claw at him with hands hands so fierce they seem to have undergone a transformation, and Hannibal has to be much firmer. At one point he places his forearm across Newt’s throat, and all three of them hold their breath for a moment, motionless. There is a longer bout of wordless struggle, and Hannibal withdraws from above Newt. He presses flat the front of of his crimson silk jacket as he stands at the foot of the bed. Hermann suddenly becomes aware of his own breathing, deep and heavy, as he watches Newt, completely naked, missing even his glasses, panting but subdued. The vivid colours of the tattoos that cover his pallid skin from throat to ankle radiate against the white sheets, undulating it seems with each of Newt’s breaths, as he writhes ever so slightly in place. His wrists have been bound and anchored between the thick carvings of tree branches on the headboard. Arms outstretched on each side, he is offered up to them. Hannibal wedges his hand under Newt’s lower back, making him twitch and eliciting a quavering growl. His unseeing eyes try to stare Hannibal down, but they’re so wide and dark that they seem to cover any white. Not breaking his gaze, Hannibal turns him on his side, trailing his hand over the curve of his ass, then stops. Newt is tense, as if waiting, and Hermann can count his breaths. The standoff ends when Hannibal pushes a finger deep into him without warning. Hermann gasps, but the sound is covered by Newt’s shriek, a trill, inhuman, unearthly. He bucks a few times, then buckles. Hannibal stays in him a moment longer, until he’s calmed, then pulls out and moves away, wiping his hand with a dark handkerchief, detached, almost professional about what he’s just done. He fixes Hermann with his unseen eyes, and Hermann is trying not to betray his discomfiture on his face. Hannibal nods in Newt’s direction.

“All yours.”

Hermann finds himself rooted to the spot. Having been an unwitting voyeur has not prepared him to be a willing participant. He grips the head of his cane harder, as if his stubbornness will make him invisible, will dissipate the heat and the pleasure he can’t pretend isn’t straining at his groin. It’s the sight of Newt, and the sound of him, begging with trills, that dissolves Hermann’s quandary over the entire situation. His footsteps are unsteady as he shuffles to the foot of the bed, and as he moves to place his cane aside it is taken from him. Hesitating for just a moment, he places a hand tentatively on Newt’s ankle. At his touch, Newt rolls onto his back, purring and reaching out towards him with his feet. Hermann tugs him closer, trying not to make his arms pull against the ropes, moving him just to the edge of the bed where Hermann’s thighs rest comfortably. Newt has his knees up at his chest, stroking the front of Hermann’s jacket with his toes, digging his heels affectionately into his ribs. Hermann strokes the underside of Newt’s thighs, forgetting about anything else but him. He undoes the front of his trousers quickly, brushing his finger over Newt’s scrotum and further down to where he’s glistening and gaping. A bottle of lubricant has been left unobtrusively on the bed, and Hermann chases away the thought that there is someone else in the room before using it on himself. He presses himself up just against Newt, who rubs his hips with his feet, and pushes into him slowly with a sigh. Newt responds with a whimper, a screech, and finally a purr. Still unsteady on his legs, bracing himself against the back of Newt's thighs, Hermann rocks slowly into him, gliding evenly, unable to go any faster, but not wanting to as every moment is bliss. Eyes closed, he slides into and out of him, swelling with each movement over his skin. From Newt comes a staccato whine that crescendos, making Hermann hot and full and ready to burst. He's hopeful that their same rules apply here, as he moves one hand beneath himself to help bring himself to orgasm.

"It’s almost like you’ve not bred this one before," he hears Hannibal say behind him, amusement not the only thing coating his voice. "You have to let him know when you’re going to come."

The words make a rush of heat spread over his chest, and Newt whimpers, and Hermann comes with a grunt, collapsing into him as Newt convulses beneath him, once, then again, toes digging into his sides. Hermann falls over Newt, panting as he pulls himself out, letting the tingling spread through him, relaxing his legs, a relief after having tensed, but well worth the pain. He shakes off his jacket, suddenly much too hot, and lets his trousers and pants drop to the ground where he steps out of them. He manages to pull his sweater off in one movement, but is surprised to have another set of hands helping him unbutton his shirt from behind him. He stiffens for a brief moment before shoving aside all inhibition, in this far, not caring what happens next. He only has to undo his cuffs before he is helped off with his shirt and helped up onto the bed. Kneeling next to Newt, his kiss is greeted with a happy trill. When he moves his lips away, unable to keep from kissing and licking every part of Newt’s face and neck and chest, he presses his knuckle between Newt’s teeth for him to bite down on. Hermann lets his lips feel the smoothness of Newt’s eyelid, the coarseness at his jawline, the soft hair on his chest, the fine bumps on his nipple. Newt bites down on his finger hard, the pain hot, his tongue snaking wet over his knuckle when Hermann sucks at him. Pulling his hand away, he replaces it with his mouth again, grabbing Newt’s head between his palms, drinking him in deeply, curling the tips of his fingers into his hair. He slips his tongue past Newt’s lips, making him whimper again at being pushed into, when suddenly Newt turns away. He’s pulling at his restraints, pushing his legs against -

“Feisty bitch,” growls Hannibal, letting Newt try to fight him off, pushing him away with his feet, knees pressed together.

For another moment more, Hannibal lets him play, but he’s no match, and Hannibal forces his legs apart. Hermann has to remind himself that this is a game, even if he can hear Newt’s voice breaking through in the cry he lets out at being harshly penetrated. There are rules, and they haven’t yet been broken. So he closes his eyes and presses his lips against Newt’s again, unable to focus on the kiss as he feels Newt’s body move in rhythm to Hannibal’s pounding. Newt has yielded completely, nothing belongs to him, and his breath is pressed out of his mouth with each jerk. There is a long moment of nothing else, and Hermann is losing himself in the heat of the situation when Hannibal groans something to Newt.

Hermann feels Newt tense beneath him, and at the last moment pushes Hannibal away with surprising force. Drops of hot liquid land on Hermann’s hip, and he hears Hannibal chuckle as he pats Newt on the thigh appreciatively.

It takes Newt a moment to get his breath back as he pushes himself further up the bed, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, turning away as best he can with his wrists still bound. Hermann trails his hand along Newt’s side, pressing his thumb beneath his hip bone. Newt turns away from his touch and curls up into himself as much as possible, and Hermann doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

“I think he’d rather finish with you.”

“ _[Hat er recht?](%E2%80%9DIs_he_right?%E2%80%9D)_ ” Hermann whispers. Newt nods.

Hermann caresses him down his side, from his ribs to his waist, down over the slight rise at his hip, all the way to his knee. Newt relaxes, twisting slowly from side to side. Seeking confirmation before letting him go, Hermann pulls at the knots holding his wrists and they slip away easily. Hands free, Newt burrows himself in Hermann’s chest, purring again. Hermann pets him along his back in long strokes pressing his face against his head, breathing in the very human smell of his hair.

Newt turns himself over gently, almost imperceptibly and curves himself into Hermann’s form. Spooning him from behind, Hermann presses up against him, gently sliding into him, much easier this time, and gentler, more intimate, working towards nothing, unconcerned with climax or completion, absorbed in the constant feel of each other, shuddering from time to time, tremors of ecstasy shivering through them. Hermann places a hand on Newt’s stomach and feels him quiver. They lay still without either having come, but both calm, contented, after their quiet delirium.

After a moment’s rest, Hermann moves to pull away, but Newt stops him with a hand on his hip, drawing him in closer. So he stays - in him, a part of him.

There seems to be no sound from the room, but he knows that doesn’t guarantee that they are alone. But he doesn’t care: they’re safe as they drift off together.


End file.
